


Cross Your Heart

by lyonet



Series: A Right Turn After Bad Idea [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonet/pseuds/lyonet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Merlin remarked, turning a thoughtful eye on their destination, “your sister is getting married in...a castle. Which one of the brides was Daddy’s little princess?”</p>
<p>“Technically, Morgana,” Arthur said, “since we used to live here.”</p>
<p>Merlin blinked at him. “What.”</p>
<p>“Dad donated it to the National Trust during the last election,” Arthur said, tugging Merlin along, feeling this was not a conversation he wanted to have standing still. People tended to get a bit weird about the knowledge he had grown up in a literal castle, particularly when the castle in question was looming over their heads. Even Arthur had to admit, it was kind of big for three people. “Morgana refused to consider getting married anywhere else, though she’s still bitter that she can’t move things wherever she wants.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, I’m stuck on ‘castle’.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Once the idea was in my head, I couldn't resist writing a sequel about the Pendragon family wedding shenanigans. Brace yourself for ridiculous fluff.

It was an ambush, of course. Morgana did not do surprises, she did traps. So when, after twenty seven years of avoiding emotional commitment like the plague, she suddenly decided to not only fall in love with Arthur’s ex-girlfriend Vivian but get engaged a month after they started dating, she had to spring the announcement at her father Uther’s fiftieth birthday party, when all the great and good-for-tax-purposes crowd were in attendance. Along with enough cameras for a press gallery.

Uther was caught with his mouth open, champagne flute tilting dangerously sideways; Vivian’s father Olaf nearly had an aneurysm and had to be discreetly removed from the room before he started yelling. Which left Arthur to lead everybody in a congratulatory toast (because basic familial etiquette) and haul Morgana into a one-armed hug (because Pendragons might generally express their affection through relentless mockery but this seemed like the right time to break out the emergency sincerity). When she asked him to be her best man, eyes worryingly shiny, the only possible answer was yes.

Thank every deity ever to exist that the whole ordeal was nearly over.

It was not that Arthur had any objection to tasting cakes or suggesting music or rolling his eyes at Morgana behind the back of the wedding planner. He spent his workdays talking corporate leaders into doing what he wanted; if you needed someone who could turn a bridal party into an effective committee, Arthur was your man. It was not that he was still in love with Vivian, or that he didn’t love Morgana – she was one of the very few people in the world Arthur would drop everything for, any time, and she knew it – but they were not good at handling each other’s company for excessive periods of time. Consecutive days, for instance. Or the length of a game of Monopoly. Honestly, it was a miracle (mostly of Morgana’s best friend Guinevere’s making) that they were still talking to each other by the day of the wedding.

Then again, Arthur was showing up late with Merlin, the one night stand he’d picked up during Morgana’s hen party, so it would be more accurate to say she hadn’t had the _chance_ to not talk to him yet.

“What the fucking fuck, Arthur, where have you been, who is that,” Mithian said, very calmly, when he pulled up in the parking lot. She was one of Vivian’s bridesmaids and so was wearing pastel pink with a wreath of rosebuds in her hair and the steely-eyed stare of a survivor. “Seriously, who is that, you said you weren’t bringing a plus one because it would be just one more person you had to dance with.”

“I’m Merlin,” said Merlin, leaning warily away from the stare.

“I have the right to a plus one, you know,” Arthur added. “It’s on my invitation. Gwen and Elena will back me up.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re meant to be here,” Mithian decided. “Arthur, you need to be in the great hall ten minutes ago. Gwen’s having a crisis. Bring scissors. Fix your hair.” She studied him for a dubious moment. “At least you don’t look like death warmed up.”

“Wow, thanks Mith,” Arthur muttered, getting out of the car.

Merlin watched as she stalked away on lethally high pink heels. “Are all your friends like that?”

"Pretty much, yeah,” Arthur admitted. Merlin raised an eyebrow as he came around to the other side of the car and pulled open the door for him, but unfolded his long limbs on cue. Looking at him, you wouldn’t know that the dark blue suit he was wearing had only made acquaintance with his body in a fifteen minute speed-tailoring session en route to the wedding, and Arthur felt genuinely wronged that it would be hours before he had even a chance at stripping Merlin out of it. They walked side by side, the backs of their hands brushing.

“So,” Merlin remarked, turning a thoughtful eye on their destination, “your sister is getting married in...a castle. Which one of the brides was Daddy’s little princess?”

“Technically, Morgana,” Arthur said, “since we used to live here.”

Merlin blinked at him. “What.”

“Dad donated it to the National Trust during the last election,” Arthur said, tugging Merlin along, feeling this was not a conversation he wanted to have standing still. People tended to get a bit weird about the knowledge he had grown up in a literal castle, particularly when the castle in question was looming over their heads. Even Arthur had to admit, it _was_ kind of big for three people. “Morgana refused to consider getting married anywhere else, though she’s still bitter that she can’t move things wherever she wants.”

“Sorry, I’m stuck on ‘castle’,” Merlin said. “You lived in a house with its own parking lot?”

“Lots of places have parking lots.”

“And turrets?”

“You’re getting distracted,” Arthur growled, pushing him up the front stairs. Merlin craned his head back to look at the gargoyles, making incredulous noises. Arthur reached for the door, then changed his mind and turned around to lean his back against it. “Before you go in there,” he said, “I feel like I should prepare you for my sister.” He paused. “And my father. And maybe my uncle.”

“We talked about this in the car,” Merlin said. “You’re only going to introduce me to your family if they ask, and then as a ‘friend’. We don’t have to make a big deal of this.”

“Ye-es,” Arthur acknowledged, “but _they_ might. Just – back-up plan, all right? If it gets too much, or someone demands your resume on the spot or something, text me and we’ll meet up at the car.”

Merlin grinned. “Is this a heist? Should we be synchronising our watches? Because if so, you’re out of luck, I don’t wear a watch.”

“You don’t wear a – ” Arthur began, appalled, but at that point the door was yanked open behind him and a blonde girl in paint-splashed jeans dashed past while he was catching his balance, trailing an unravelling bundle of ribbons. She dashed back quickly to give him a clumsy one-armed hug, wave cheerfully at Merlin and say, “Madness!” before running off again.

“That’s Elena, right?” Merlin asked. “I recognise her from the hen party, the lemonade girl.”

Arthur nodded vaguely, looking into the great hall. He remembered it as being chilly and imposing and of an awkward size for any event smaller than a formal banquet, but Guinevere had done wonders with ribbon and flower garlands. She had half a dozen people scurrying about purposefully making last-minute touches. When she saw Arthur, Gwen herself jumped down from a chair and hurried over with petals stuck in her hair.

“I knew that florist was a bad idea,” she said, since apparently nobody said ‘hello’ any more. “I shouldn’t have trusted him and his creepy insect fairy-lights – oh, sorry, I’m Gwen. Who are you?”

“This is Merlin,” Arthur said, giving Merlin an affirmative pat on the shoulder and mentally wincing at himself. “My, um. Plus one. Anyway, what’s this about the terrible florist?”

“ _Muirden_ ,” Gwen hissed. “I made the order three weeks ago. I double-checked the order one week ago. What gets delivered, late I might add? Half the number of garlands I need and no bridal bouquets, so I have to run about cribbing flowers from wherever I can to make something that’ll do. Fortunately Vivian is too hungover to care about anything other than orange juice right now, but Morgana’s having a fit of wedding nerves upstairs and says we’re all doomed.” She sighed, running her fingers through her hair and dislodging a gentle rain of rose petals. “Is it illegal to pick flowers in a National Trust garden?”

“I can duck out to a florist,” Merlin suggested. “It’s no problem.”

“Really?” Gwen swooped on him, kissing his cheek. “You’re an angel, Merlin, thanks so much, get all the roses you can. Enough for two large bouquets, preferably red and pink. This should be enough to cover it.” She pushed a fistful of notes into Merlin’s hand and plucked the car keys out of Arthur’s pocket to give those to Merlin too. Before Arthur could protest, he was being spun around and pushed towards the stairs.

“Talk to Morgana!” Gwen ordered. “I can handle this.”

Arthur twisted in her hold and called out to Merlin, who looked somewhere between amused and mildly concerned. “I’ll meet you back here when the wedding starts, all right? Gwen, promise not to lose him.”

“I thought you weren’t bringing a plus one.”

“I changed my mind. Don’t let him near my father, _promise_ me.”

“Oh, all right,” Gwen sighed. “I promise to keep an eye on him. Now. Morgana. Go.”

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Arthur demanded.

“She’s your sister, you’ll think of something!”

Which was all very well, Arthur thought as he trudged up the familiar stairs. Saying what people needed to hear was what Guinevere Smith did best, but Arthur had gone most of his adult life without saying what he really felt about anything more emotionally complicated than dinner reservations, let alone to Morgana. He knew where to look for her, though; three staircases up, he came out onto the roof and found her there in her black lace wedding dress, looking like someone out of a Brontë novel and shouting into her phone at the terrible florist.

“What,” she said, lowering the phone and eyeing Arthur suspiciously.

“Why does everyone keep saying ‘what’ at me?” Arthur complained.

Morgana folded her arms at him. “You probably deserve it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and slumped against the nearest wall. This was the trademarked Sulking Roof. Back when they were living in the castle, they’d take turns coming up here after fights, and sometimes together when Uther was holding one of his glitterati parties and they weren’t in the mood to look pretty for a crowd. The view was amazing, but it was probably not a good sign that Morgana was lurking up here when she was supposed to be getting married in less than fifteen minutes time. He hoped that her hair was meant to look like that.

“How are you, ah, feeling?” he tried.

“Tired. Hungover.” Morgana smacked her phone against her palm like she wanted it to be a bigger blunt instrument. “I had bad dreams. What if this is all in our heads? What if we wake up tomorrow and have no idea what we’re doing, and spend the next decade of our lives feuding in court over the pre-nup like Morgause and Cenred?”

“First things first,” Arthur said, “you’re _not_ marrying Cenred, so it’s automatically a better decision.” Morgana conceded the truth of that with a small frown. “Secondly,” Arthur continued, “I am the wrong person to give you relationship advice, since I didn’t want to marry Vivian myself.”

“Wow, thanks Arthur,” Morgana snapped. “Just the reminder I needed.”

“She didn’t want me either. Remember that? She proposed to you. In fact, the two of you are disgusting together and overshare all the time. I think you’ll be fine.” Arthur chanced giving Morgana’s shoulder a squeeze. “If you want to get out of here, though, all you have to do is say and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

Morgana took a shaky breath. “You would do that?”

“I would,” Arthur promised. “...as soon as Merlin gives my car back, anyway.”

Which meant he had to explain himself – better to do that now anyway, while Merlin couldn’t hear Morgana’s delighted mockery – and by the time she had finished deriding Arthur’s life choices, she was looking much better, enough to start worrying about what the wind had done to her hair. They went inside and found the nearest mirror so she could fix it.

“Not going anywhere, then?” Arthur asked, quietly.

“Hell no, there are too many embarrassing stories I’ve got to tell Merlin.” Morgana straightened her back, tipping her chin up at the mirror to give herself a last critical appraisal. Arthur reached inside his jacket pocket, so that when she turned around he was holding out a slim silver box.

“I was going to wait until after the ceremony,” he said awkwardly. “But. Well. Here.”

Morgana opened the box curiously and drew out the sleek dagger that lay within, its jewelled hilt glowing as she held it up. “Arthur,” she said, looking tearful again. “It’s beautiful.”

“For cutting the cake,” Arthur explained, rubbing his neck. He never knew what to do when Morgana got emotional. “Or stabbing Uncle Agravaine. If you need to.”

“I love it,” Morgana cooed, running a fingertip down the blade to test its sharpness. “Something new!”

“What?” Oh no, now Arthur was doing it.

“Something old, something new,” Morgana said, like this should be obvious. She slipped the knife into its matching sheath and strapped it onto the delicate girdle of her dress with the chain from her necklace. “I’m wearing it,” she announced, and that was that.

They arrived in the great hall only a few minutes late. Morgana stayed outside, waiting for her cue. As he took his place by the celebrant at the far end, Arthur quickly scanned the rows of people, giving a sigh of relief to see Merlin seated safely beside Gwen’s husband. The most dangerous thing about Lance was the unfortunate tendency everyone had of falling a bit in love with him, and you couldn’t even hold it against him. Merlin met Arthur’s eye and smiled. The unexpected rush of warmth that flooded Arthur made him feel almost light-headed, and he smiled back helplessly.

“When this is over, you’re going to tell me all about him,” Gwen whispered sweetly in his ear. “No excuses, Arthur.”

Then the wedding music began to play and the doors of the hall were opened. Neither of the brides were on very good terms with their fathers, so they walked down the aisle together: Vivian a vision in white and Morgana characteristically Gothic, hand in hand all the way. Elena, who had changed into her pink bridesmaid dress at the very last minute, broke ranks to clap excitedly and a few people around the hall gave scattered cheers. Even the celebrant, Nimue, whom Arthur had personally found ridiculously intimidating throughout the wedding preparations, managed a smile. She led the couple through the symbolic steps that Morgana had decided were so important, and through the soppy vows Vivian had written herself, and Arthur very definitely didn’t cry.

Afterwards the photographers corralled the bridal party in the gardens for an hour while the late evening sunlight was just so. By the time they were allowed back inside, the reception was in full swing. Arthur left the brides to be well-wished, snagging two glasses of champagne and going to find Merlin. Which turned out to be good timing, because Merlin had been cornered by Arthur’s uncle Agravaine, who was trying to sell him something.

“Ah, Arthur,” Agravaine said, stealing one of the champagne flutes. “I’ve just been chatting to your friend here, trying to get him interested in a new enterprise – I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it as well, fantastic opportunity – ”

“Mm, really?” Arthur said, pushing the other glass of champagne into Merlin’s hand and taking him by the elbow. “Sorry, can’t stop now, Morgana and Vivian want to meet Merlin,” and he led him away into the crowd before Agravaine could reply.

“You’re introducing me to your sister?” Merlin said, sounding slightly panicked.

“No, I’m rescuing you from my uncle.” Arthur grabbed a glass for himself off the nearest tray and frowned at Merlin. “Unless you _want_ to meet Morgana? I mean, she’s bound to say something insulting, but she’ll probably like you.”

“Let’s not risk it,” Merlin said. “Can we just – go somewhere? Quiet? For a minute.”

Asking for quiet when all Arthur’s friends and family were in the one space was something of a vain hope. Still, he knew the castle very well. Keeping hold of Merlin’s elbow, he eased them around the edges of the room to a narrow staircase and up onto the gallery that overlooked the hall. They were alone up here, almost invisible behind the densely carved wooden screens. Merlin relaxed, and Arthur reluctantly let him go.

“It was a lovely ceremony,” Merlin said. “I liked the thing with the cup, very romantic.”

“Morgana’s idea,” Arthur explained. “But Nimue loved it. She was the celebrant, she’s an old friend of Morgause. I don’t know where references to lightning and the power of the earth come into a wedding, either, apparently those were important.”

Merlin leaned against the screen, peering through at the room below. “Which one is Nimue? I didn’t really look at her before.”

Arthur pointed her out (“wearing the red dress, over in a corner with Morgause, looking like plotters”), which led to a round of Spot the Embarrassing Relative. “That’s Vivian’s father, the one who looks like an angry bull. I don’t think he’s really angry. That’s just his face. Oh great, it looks like he’s talking to _my_ father. They mostly get on, but they both think being wrong is for other people...Over there, talking to Morgana, that’s her favourite cousin Mordred. He and his girlfriend Kara will probably try to recruit you for a cause.”

“What cause?”

“Who even knows. And that woman by the window, the old lady in black? That’s Cailleach, Morgana’s grandmother on her mother’s side. She has a really morbid sense of humour, and watch out because she’s on every social media platform ever, she calls her followers her ‘ghosts in the network’ and writes scathing reviews of obscure horror movies.”

“I want to meet _her_ ,” Merlin said, craning over Arthur’s shoulder to look. His breath was hot against Arthur’s neck and very distracting. “But why do you keep saying they’re Morgana’s relatives, are you not related to them too?”

Arthur made a face. “Well, no. Morgana is my half-sister. It’s a long story. We grew up together but she only met her side of the family recently and we’re all getting kind of possessive over her.”

Merlin gave him one of those sideways glances under his eyelashes that were joking and flirting at the same time. “Oh, you’re possessive?”

“About what I really want to keep,” Arthur said, holding his gaze, “yes. Sometimes.”

“Hm,” Merlin murmured, smiling into his glass. “That’s lucky. Me too.”

Arthur swayed in towards him, entirely unable to stop himself. “Do you want to see more of the castle?” he whispered into Merlin’s ear, and felt a hot surge of triumph at Merlin’s minute shiver. Lacing their free hands together, he tugged lightly and Merlin followed as they crossed the gallery into a quiet corridor. Arthur abandoned their glasses on a windowsill as he passed, then took a sudden left into a shallow alcove. He backed up against the wall, pulling Merlin against him, and tilted his chin to press their mouths together. Merlin’s tongue slipped between his lips, carrying the tang of champagne.

“I like the, uh, architecture,” Merlin said. “Very...” his breath hitched as Arthur’s hands settled at his hips, hooking into his belt loops, “kingly.”

“I don’t think any kings ever lived here,” Arthur mused. He used the leverage on Merlin’s belt to turn them around, so it was Merlin with his back against the wall, arching between Arthur’s braced arms. Probably it wasn’t very good for his suit jacket. Probably Arthur should care about that. “This was a fortress, originally.”

“So...knights in shining armour, then,” Merlin said, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and rocking his hips forward. “I like – _oh._ Yes. Knights. I like that better.”

There was nothing at all dignified about sneaking off to make out in a dark corner, hands sliding under each other’s clothes, chasing each other’s mouths with increasing urgency. Dignity seemed a lot less important if you were losing it with someone else. When the rumble of the band starting up drifted along the corridor, Arthur was unzipping Merlin’s pants and dropping to his knees. He glanced up once while he was rolling on the condom and thought, randomly, that he needed to look into people’s eyes more often to see if it was always this easy to lose yourself in them. Then he got on with the extremely serious task of blowing Merlin out of his mind.

Fifteen minutes later they were kissing their way through a post-orgasmic high when Morgana’s wake-the-dead shout of “Arthur! Get over here, I’m cutting the damn cake!” finally broke them apart. Merlin looked briefly horrified, probably afflicted by an attack of good manners, before his shoulders started shaking and he covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. Arthur groaned into Merlin’s collarbone, without nearly as much enthusiasm as he had the first time.

“I have to go down there,” he said. “Do you want to come with me or go down separately?”

“I think we chucked subtlety out the window a while ago,” Merlin said. “When I came along to this wedding in the first place, probably.” He looked over Arthur’s shoulder, down the length of the corridor. “Are your family going to be outraged over your lost virtue? Should I be afraid?”

There was just enough concern in the question that Arthur reached automatically to take Merlin’s hand again. This was a new instinct for him. He had a growing sense of resignation that Merlin was going to have that impression on him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”

Merlin snorted. “We’ll see. Based on what I’ve seen so far, I might need to protect _you_.”

“You’re turning this into a competition, you’ll fit right in.”

“Seriously, Arthur,” Merlin said, squeezing his hand, “do you have any idea what we’re doing?”

“Definitely not.” Arthur kissed him quickly. “Let’s go.”

And Merlin let himself be hauled along the corridor, down to face the Pendragons. Morgana was insufferably smug. Vivian was exasperated. Uther was scandalised. But there was cake, and it was worth it.


End file.
